


i'd like to stay here for a while

by goingmywaydoll



Series: flowered shirts, jane austen and muffins [2]
Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:32:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3383396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goingmywaydoll/pseuds/goingmywaydoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today, Anne bursts through the door, Francis instinctually looking up as the bell rattles. Her brown curls are hidden beneath her hat, her blue eyes dancing as her small backpack bounces with each step.</p><p>or</p><p>the sequel to consistency in coffee</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'd like to stay here for a while

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this in my drafts for ages and ages and i figured it was time to publish it so enjoy! it's dedicated to allison because she requested it and she so deserves some fluff. i hope it lives up to your expectations, love!
> 
> it's not absolutely necessary that you read consistency in coffee first but there are a couple references that might be lost to you. the background is good for this fic anyway, just so you know their story.

He still works at the café, except it’s his now. They've increased the tea selection by ten fold, something Bash still teases them about. Francis bought the flat above the shop six years ago, a couple months after their graduation and Mary got a stable job of a student teacher in the elementary school down the street. He paid for it himself, with some help from Mary, and they had frozen dinners on cardboard boxes for the first two months and learned that water bugs can, in fact, fly. She only officially moved in a year after he did but the fact of the matter was the school is closer to his flat than hers and really, it made more sense for her to spend some (all) nights at his house. What his mother didn't know wouldn't hurt her. 

Their shared desk and twin bed get shoved out of the guest bedroom/office/laundry room in favor of his old crib and her rocking chair. They painted it on a Sunday in April and Mary wore his shirt rolled to the sleeves and rested the can on her abdomen. They painted it light green and more of the paint ends up in their hair than on the walls. They stand in the doorway after, his arms wrapped around her protruding belly and he remembers the feeling he felt that first morning in her old kitchen with the five o’clock sun filtering in the window.

As Anne grows, the flat seems to shrink. His head hits the slanted ceiling when he stands from pressing his lips to his daughter’s forehead and the kitchen is splattered with tomato sauce or paint, they can never tell. Mary tells him about listings she sees in the newspapers and he brushes them off, saying he’ll put Leith on an extra shift so they can go to the open house but they both know he won’t. He spends much of his day in his office and less at the counter so he savors each shift he assigns himself. Besides, working at the counter means Anne can sit with him instead of paying her babysitter or calling Greer last-minute.

Today, Anne bursts through the door, Francis instinctually looking up as the bell rattles. Her brown curls are hidden beneath her hat, her blue eyes dancing as her small backpack bounces with each step.

“Hey, pumpkin,” he says, leaning forward as she propels herself to the counter. Her fingers clutch on the edge of it, her head peaking over it as she stands on her tip toes.

“Daddddddyyyyyyy?” she says carefully.

“What do you want?” he asks, pulling a comically serious face. She begins to bounce on her heels, a smile tugging at her lips.

“We have to hurry,” she says, throwing a look over her shoulder.

“And why’s that?” he asks, looking around conspicuously as he leans over the counter. Anne swallows, turning around again before leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“Mommy’s coming,” she says, as if it’s a secret. Francis cocks his head, frowning. “And she said I couldn’t have a cupcake but it’s Friday and you always make cupcakes on Fridays and Fridays are my favorite days because they’re cupcake days and—“ she turns around again to look out the window, “—And I really _really_ want a cupcake.”

With that, she stands flat-footed and crosses her arms over her chest. Francis leans back, covering his hand with his mouth as he thinks. Anne is looking at him with her (his) big blue eyes and biting her lip in that way Mary does when she wants something and well, Francis isn’t one for refusing his daughter anything.

He doesn’t say a word, but presses his finger to his lips and winks at her before disappearing behind the counter. When he reemerges, Anne is tapping her foot and looking over her shoulder once more. She cranes her neck to see if he’s listened to her and he can see the moment her eyes light up.

He places the red velvet cupcake on a napkin and slides it across the counter to the five-year-old on the other side. She squeals in excitement before darting under the counter to throw her arms around his neck. He grunts as her body collides with his, but picks her up nonetheless. She whispers a soft, “Thank you,” in his ear and he sets her down on the counter, her skinny legs hanging off. She grabs at the cupcake as he plucks her hat off her head and unzips her winter coat. Any reprimanding he may get from Mary is made up for by the look on her face when she takes her first bite and the little line of frosting across her upper lip. He kisses her forehead quickly before shifting her over on the counter and beginning to wipe it down.

His daughter eats slowly, savoring each bite and she’s on her last one when his wife comes in the door. He knows she knows the second she steps in the shop and already works up the apology in his mind. Mary approaches the counter, taking off her gloves and shaking her head reproachfully.

“You’re insufferable, you know,” she says, leaning on the counter as she always does.

“I made him, Mommy!” Anne says quickly. “It isn’t his fault, I swear!”

“Nice try, love, but you are both in big _big_ trouble,” she says, waggling her finger. Anne’s eyes widen as she pops the last bite into her already full mouth, like she’s afraid Mary will take it from her. “You didn’t get one for me!”

Father and daughter pause, both of them having braced for a famous Mary Stuart lecture.

“And this red velvet nonsense? Where’s the pure chocolate?” she says, waving her hand. Francis grins at her, leaning over the counter and pecking her on the lips quickly before reaching for another cupcake and napkin.

“I’m going to go play!” their daughter says quickly, hopping off the counter and grabbing her coat. Francis reaches for her at the last second, pulling her close through her protests and smothering her with kisses. “Be careful on the stairs!” he calls as she wriggles free from him and runs to the back stairs leading to their flat.

“You gave her a cupcake,” Mary states.

“She looked at me with those eyes, Mary! I’m not a monster!”

“And you’re implying I am?” she asks, crossing her arms. Her smile goes unnoticed by her husband of five years as he splutters for a response.

“I—Just that you have better self-restraint than I do!”

“Well, we knew that before,” she says, smirking. “You know I’m kidding.”

Francis sighs and looks away like a petulant child as Mary laughs.

“So,” she says, brushing her hair out of her face as the laughter subsides. “I went to the doctor during my lunch break today.”

Mary bites her lip as he freezes, his hand hovering over the cash machine and his eyes trained on the spot of air above her shoulder.

“And it looks like you’re going to need some more cupcakes to be fair to the both of them,” she says. Francis breathes in sharply, his eyes blinking very fast.

“Wait—but—you’re—we—he—“ he starts, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can think of forming a sentence.

“Honestly, I don’t know how you run a coffee shop when your brain doesn’t work half the time,” she says, laughter bubbling out in spite of herself. Francis rubs his eyes furiously and runs a hand through his hair before scrambling to unlock the counter and lift it up so he can properly hug his wife.

“I—you’re—we’re—“

“Yes, I’m pregnant, now shut up and kiss me!” she says and he does so eagerly. It’s an awkward kiss, all smiles and teeth clacking but he doesn’t care. And maybe he’s getting flour all over her clothes and maybe the customers don’t appreciate watching their barista enthusiastically kiss his wife and maybe he just knocked over that jar of sugar when he spun her around but it’s okay because the flour will come out and the customers will forget and he can buy more sugar and _they’re having another baby_.

When they finally pull away, his hands fly to her flat stomach, like he’s willing the baby to respond to him.

“I’m just a couple weeks along, I didn’t even know, it was just a check-up and blood test and I don’t know where we’ll put him, since Anne won’t share a room and he can’t sleep with us forever and—“ Mary says quickly.

“Him?” he asks softly.

“Well, I don’t know yet, we can’t know yet, but I don’t know, I thought it’d be nice to have a boy, since we already have Anne but if you want—“

“I want a boy too,” he interrupts and Mary beams.

“Really? I just wasn’t sure if you wanted another girl or—“

“I don’t care what gender they are, just as long as they’re ours,” he says, his arms winding around her waist.

“Oh, God, you’re going to be corny again, aren’t you?” Mary says, struggling to pull away as Francis grins goofily and tightens his grip. “Let me go and make me a coffee.”

“Oh, God, you’re going to be all demanding again, aren’t you?” Francis mimics and Mary finally slips out from his arms, darting behind the counter to make her own coffee. “No, no, no, you can’t have coffee!”

“Francis, I thought we agreed that I could have free coffee after we got married.”

“You’re pregnant! You can’t have coffee or the baby’ll come out all deformed!”

“Anne came out just fine,” Mary says, shrugging.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Francis says, gaping at her.

“Nothing…” Mary says, turning around to hide her bashful smile.

“I said no coffee!” says Francis.

“Relax, it’s just tea. See?” She brandishes a bag of Chamomile in his face before plopping it in a cup and pouring hot water over it. Francis grimaces and moves so she can reach the honey. “I’m going to go watch Anne, all right?”

Francis nods as she stirs her tea. Her lip is caught between her teeth as she sets the honey back in its place carefully, knowing how organized Francis likes his counter. He takes a small step towards her, his hands ghosting over her hips. Mary stills at his touch, melting against him. He lips brush against her cheek and he can feel her shiver against him, after all this time.

“Hi.” His breath hits her neck lightly and he watches as she sucks in a breath.

“Hi,” she says, turning around to face him.

“So,” he says, “A baby.”

She merely nods and smiles up at him. He presses his forehead against hers, his eyes drifting closed. _One minute,_ he tells himself. _One minute and I’ll let her go to Anne._ It seems that Mary is thinking the same thing, for they both allow themselves a quiet moment before pulling away at the same time. He watches as darting up the stairs to their daughter after kissing him briefly and he hides his smile behind the coffee machine.


End file.
